


A Grief That Can't Be Spoken

by wanderinghope



Category: Batwoman (Comic), Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderinghope/pseuds/wanderinghope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/backitup_baby/pseuds/backitup_baby">backitup_baby</a>'s <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/22559">Here Comes Trouble</a> Glee/Batwoman series.</p><p>A serial killer emerges in Gotham City, targeting the city's finest -- Gotham City Police. As the death toll rises and no leads emerge, Quinn and Santana's relationship strains under the stress of this unresolved crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Grief That Can't Be Spoken

Quinn’s stony glare fixes on the television as the newscaster announces another dead body has been found in Gotham. Another dead cop, to be exact. It’s the second one this week and it’s starting to become a trend. Both bodies show the same supernatural cryogenics so these deaths are more than just a coincidence. 

The blonde had been doing the Batwoman thing for a reasonable amount of time now, but she’s never dealt with a serial killer. Most of the scum bags in this town are just trying to made a quick buck (or a quick million), so killing sprees aren’t exactly the norm. And the last thing Gotham’s criminals want to do is seek out the GCPD. This just doesn’t add up.

After the news moves on to weather, which is frankly insulting considering all evidence suggests some lowlife is targeting the police force, Quinn shuts the TV off and grabs her phone.

“Pick up, Santana.” Quinn mumbles to herself as the phone rings. And rings. And rings.

 _You have reached the voice mail inbox of..._ Her girlfriend’s grouchy voice saying her own name breaks up the automated voice, but Quinn is barely listening anymore and hangs up. Naturally, her first instinct is to jump to the worst conclusion: that the serial killer is targeting Santana next and the reason she’s not answering is because she’s already tied and gagged somewhere, ready for slaughter.

Forcing herself to take a few breaths, Quinn instead shoots a text message to the brunette. _Please call me. Immediately._

A minute later, a reply message reaches her inbox. _Can’t. Working. Talk later._

Well at least Quinn knows she’s alive.

* * *

Over the next few weeks the news continues to report dead cops, all killed the same way and presumably by the same person. Quinn continues to reach out to Santana, but the woman pushes her away with the same excuses of needing to work. It’s not that Quinn doesn’t believe her. If her co-workers were being picked off like apples from a tree, she wouldn’t rest until she found the bastard either. 

They see each other occasionally for lunch during the week but they have’t spent a night together in weeks and it’s really hard to get your mack on when the image of several dead cops keeps flashing through your mind.

It’s been over a month since the first body was discovered and Quinn is out doing her nightly patrol. She stopped a mugging _and_ shooed away some punks who were spraypainting under a bridge, so it’s been satisfying enough to call it a night. However, instead of heading back to her place she goes to Santana’s. She knows for a fact that the brunette had the morning shift and will be home, unable to avoid her.

She swoops onto Santana’s balcony in her typical Batwoman fashion and knocks on the balcony window. Looking back, it probably isn’t her smartest move.

Santana approaches the door, gun first. She lowers it slightly at the sight of Quinn, but only enough to flip the lock and let her in.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Fabray, you scared the fucking shit out of me,” Santana says, her gun still fixed outside, as if someone will follow Quinn in.

“I--Sorry, but I wanted to see you. We haven’t really spent time together lately,” Quinn says as she closes the door and blinds behind her. If she’s going to de-bat herself, she has to make sure no one can see.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy,” Santana replies stiffly, finally lowering her gun and putting it back in the holster. She’s still in her work clothes even though it’s past midnight… And for the first time in a while, Quinn can really take a look at her. The bags under her eyes show that Santana hasn’t been sleeping well and her uniform isn’t hugging her curves as it usually does. She’s been losing weight, too.

“Look, I know a lot of shit is going on but the disappearing act is my thing and you get pissed every time I do it. So what’s going on with you?” Quinn demands.

“Don’t pretend you know how I’m feeling. Trish’s fucking cubicle was right next to mine and Frank taught me how to shoot a goddamn gun. What if _I’m_ next.” Quinn can see the fear flicker in Santana’s eyes for a moment before her gaze hardens once more. “So I need to figure out who this son of a bitch is before I’m the next feature on the nightly news.”

“You know I’m not going to let that happen,” Quinn says, stepping forward to reach for Santana’s hand, but the other woman crosses her arms.

“I just wish we knew who this fucker was,” Santana groans, moving a hand up to run through her hair. “He’s obviously taking them somewhere to… you know… before dumping their bodies, but there’s never any evidence. We got jack shit except five dead cops. People are handing in their badge, because they’re some kind of fucking bull’s eye.”

Quinn knows it isn’t going to do any good to offer to help, because she has just as much as the cops, which is absolutely nothing. Instead she just says, “Can we go to bed? We’ve both had a long day and I just need to be with you right now.”

There’s still fight in Santana’s eyes, but even the brunette knows their relationship has been strained lately. “I’m gonna go check all the locks. Take the damn suit off in the bathroom. There aren’t any windows in there.”

Santana is much grouchier than usual, but Quinn will take this as a win. “Meet you in the bedroom in five,” the blonde replies before heading off to the bathroom.


End file.
